Hazards of the Prying Pebbles
by CageVenom
Summary: Hermione spontaneously decides to buy a security camera for her bedroom. Not just any security camera. A Weasley Wizard Wheeze gone awfully wrong. HxHr lemon


Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, obviously.

"Fred, we outdid ourselves again." George Weasley said to no one in particular. He was sitting behind the table in the dimly-lit workshop in his store's basement.

The room was littered with crumpled papers and the floor was covered in places by explosion soot. One wall was hidden behind cabinets containing bizarre ingredients and substances. The one opposite was a big drawing board covered by pieces of parchment, magically or otherwise stuck to it, detailing planned products. Fred's back was to the door. In front of him, below tool-ridden shelves and between parchment stacks on the table-top was a small stone.

It was no bigger than his fist, nearly spherical with a flattened bottom, and looked like someone had hollowed out an apple-sized emerald and filled it with black ink. It was emitting a silver lock of smoke in George's direction. The smoke spread out in a funnel-like shape. About twenty or so centimeters from the stone, the smoke thickened in the shape of an old, curved TV screen.

Looked at from the ginger-haired inventor's point of view, this screen was showing the entrance to the store, much like a security camera. A magical security camera. It was one of the more ambitious projects the Weasley twins had planned before Fred's untimely death, and George had worked tirelessly to bring their dream to life.

He called them the Prying Pebbles. The one watching the store was appropriately called the Watching stone, while the one in front of him was the Showing stone.

Many a jealous witch would come to get them in a few days, when his premiere batch was ready. The advertising slogan: "Two halves make a whole" was massively successful.

It was just another Tuesday for a certain curly-haired genius. In truth, she felt quite embarrassed for holding the black box. It was mysterious, discrete and heavy with a pair of the mysterious Prying Pebbles drenched in Hermione's guilt. Also mysterious was George's smile at the checkout.

"Should I warn Ronnie-pooh?" he playfully teased. He rarely smiled lately, much less with the same mischief as he did before the war. This was a welcome exception.

Hermione's face tried for the color of her fiancé's hair, but it only managed an Umbridge-esque hue of pink.

"Don't worry." He winked. "We here at the triple-W take pride in being discreet and respecting our customers' privacy."

Hermione managed a thankful smile, but left a generous tip just in case. George Weasley was one person you didn't want to have dirt on you. Poor Ron was still frequently reminded about his dance of a lifetime with professor McGonagall in fourth year.

A whole bunch of hours later, Hermione would find herself walking into an empty apartment. Well, not really empty. It was cozily furnished, though the furniture was not too evenly matched. The things she and Ron had brought with them were woefully contrasting each other. A clash between the worn-down, lopsided and homey Burrow feel and a more cold, modern and stylish British upper-middle class. The two were tied together with a second-hand couch and some affordable Ikea and sprinkled with pictures of the two inhabitants. Some Quidditch flags and some paintings made appearances on the walls.

Despite the dissonance in decoration, Hermione felt right at home. She was deeply worried that Ron would turn it into a lair soon after they moved in. He was home alone a lot then, not yet in Auror training. Hermione couldn't hide her surprise when he kept their cozy home spotless, and though his cooking had room to improve, he rocked the house-husband role.

The exception to the rule was the bedroom. One could almost draw out the line that halved the bed as a shoreline of stuff on the floor versus the visible parquet. On Hermione's side, everything was neat. Ron's, on the other hand, was a mess. His side of the bed was unmade. His side of the closet opened. His clothes littered the floor, and mugs were growing penicillin fungus on the nightstand.

Hermione smiled. She liked cleanliness, but not the cleaning. When Ron finally went into training and she started doing more than just the occasional dishes it wasn't too much fun. Sure, magic was an option, but the magical scrubbers didn't come cheap and neither would a dishwasher. On the other hand, the spells could only do so much in the way of cleaning. A good old fashioned scrubbing was irreplaceable, and Ron did a good job of teaching her how to enjoy it.

The young witch knocked the formality of her outfit down a notch, from work clothes to casual. She then took to the black box she had left on the table. Nested in black velvet, the two stones stared at Hermione like a pair of green eyes. Two labels were placed above the stones. The Watching stone had a simple eye symbol drawn on it in black. The Showing stone was graced with a black rectangle. As soon as they saw the light of day, smoke rose from the Showing stone, displaying instructions.

The Seeing stone could turn its view in any direction by using the underside like a trackpad. Tapping it would render it invisible. Tapping the top would start it up.

The Showing stone had the exact same controls for the Seeing stone on its underside. This meant you could make the Seeing stone redirect its view and turn itself invisible from afar. Like the Seeing stone, this one could also be tapped on the top of the dome. This would dispel or bring out the smoke screen.

Everything else, like screen size and zoom, would then be controlled by stirring the cloud in different directions. The downside to all of this was that you could only see what was happening at the moment, as George was still working on the recording functionality.

Almost instantly tossed aside was the piece of paper bearing the warnings and hazards regarding the pebbles. Hermione, whose way of life used to meticulously include the phrase "Better safe than sorry" as often as possible, had gone a bit dull. Years of war, intrigue and generally being up to no good around Hogwarts had worn down on her paranoia significantly.

If only she hadn't acted so out of character, she might have read that the photosensitive substance, the black liquid in the stone, was part Dragon Licorice. If she had, she would've surely remembered the entry in the Chemistry of Love encyclopedia by the renowned Laverne de Montromercy, an essential book for any girl at Hogwarts interested in testing out the saying: "Love goes through the stomach".

Hermione would've also recalled the contents of the entry. Dragons, it says, release a special pheromone during breeding season. The pitch-black substance is used to instantly attract and arouse a nearby mate. However, a dragon may also use it differently. As it is sprayed out, under the hot breath of a raunchy-feeling dragon for example, it refracts light. Apparently, puking rainbows is considered a socially acceptable form of courtship amongst dragons.

Curiously enough, the reaction is very similar in humans. Rainbow hurling aside, a whiff of Dragon Licorice could turn a respectable man into a beast with the drive of a constipated teenager and the morals of a politician. Naturally, it was damn hard to come by and woefully expensive. The pebbles only had a trace amount of the stuff mixed in.

Ignorant of these relevant facts, Hermione Granger stood on the tips of her toes and carefully placed the Watching stone on top of her and Ron's closet. Surely by now, one would wonder why Hermione Granger was acting so inexplicably suspicious of her significant other. In doing so, one would be doing the exact same thing as said bushy-haired witch. She had nothing but a hunch to go on, and felt it was more of a measure to ease her mind than really spy on Ron.

Hermione wouldn't have liked to describe herself as a jealous person. The mere notion that she distrusts her fiancé could've offended her. Such is the situation with most people, however, and Hermione was falling for the same trap that so many others found themselves in. Instead of taking a moment to consider her true feelings, admitting jealousy and trying to improve things, she wrote it off and went about her life. With small quirks like installing a security camera in her bedroom, of course.

You and I may take a moment to mull and complain about how this is 'so totally un-hero like' and 'super lame' of Hermione, if you'd like. In the meantime, due to a string of half-pondered decisions, lucky coincidences and downright disgustingly illogical events, she ends up at the local supermarket.

Watch as Hermione, taken out of her natural environment of libraries and dangerous adventures, very non-magically strolls through the aisles of a supermarket with a trolley. It's unclear whether she was the one steering the trolley or whether it pulled her towards him, but in an event exactly as unlikely as meeting your neighbour at the supermarket, Hermione bumped into Harry.

The boy who lived on microwave lasagna was casually browsing through some cup-ramen. After being freed from a curse worse than any known to the wizarding world - the Dursleys - Harry took an exuberant vacation from cooking food because, exactly like you and I, he was far too busy with important things to bother with it. It must be noted that Ginny, Harry's very serious girlfriend, but not quite yet fiancée, was away because of Quidditch most of the time. On this particular occasion, she wasn't at home for nearly a month with visits few and far between. For Harry this meant that "No dishwasher no dishes" became an excuse, and judging by how healthy he felt, it had probably gone on for at least a week longer than it should've.

Still, today was a rather stressful day for Harry, so he wasn't about to abandon his splendor-less indulgences for something as menial as physical wellbeing. He had found himself an internship at Hogwarts while training for an Auror. For the past few days, he was following around a team of experts called in by McGonagall. The castle defences were to be beefed up in case of another attack on the school. The medieval knight suits of armour resting in the walls were to be souped up. Now when a headmaster used the Piertotum Locomotor spell, squads of what can only be described as limestone space marines would crush the enemy ranks with great prejudice.

Some argued that it didn't fit the overall gothic baroque feel of the castle, but piped down quickly after seeing either the awesome sculptures or the cynical gazes of the team installing them. It wasn't too difficult of a job, but the ridiculous paperwork and job access grants were driving Harry mad. In a slightly misunderstood state, with slightly purple bags under his eyes, the famous Harry Potter primed his best smiling greeting at his precious friend, Hermione Granger.

"Hey," he said in a strangled voice, his sour smile quickly melting. It looked as if his happiness was a soul that was trying to climb onto the bank of the Styx, but was quickly dragged down by the river's other ethereal inhabitants.

"Hiya, Harry!" she answered, as if lecturing him how to be happy. She was truly a sight for sore eyes. "You got anything good there?" she pried kindly. Harry's face turned to that of a dog found guilty of cookie thievery. Hermione wasn't awfully fond of dogs, but still found his expression heart-warming and endearing. Pulling from the aforementioned bundle of coincidences, it just so happened that Ron was to be working late. Additionally, Hermione was also supposed to be working late. Due to reasons one would be hard pressed to call thoroughly explained, scribbled onto a note and posted on a door at the ministry, however, she was here and free for lunch. Isn't life rather miraculous?

Seeing his dire state and deciding to nurture her newfound love for cooking and cleaning, Hermione invited herself over to make some lunch at Harry's. Needless to say, the wizard was overjoyed at how dreadfully perceptive his friend was. She said exactly what he was thinking - one of the qualities he found most redeeming about Hermione.

Rejuvenated and invigorated, he put back the cup ramen, deciding to stay healthy. The two settled on a vegetable medley in a pan under some chunks of chicken. With a few exchanged glances and even fewer words, the two were done shopping and through the magic of public transportation and elevators, in Harry's apartment.

Hermione thought that it resembled her and Ron's in many ways, especially the mix and match furniture. It had a lot of Ginny written on it. Not constrained by an army of older siblings, she could finally display her accomplishments around the house. Cups, medals and flags littered the walls and pictures of her and Harry decorated any and all flat surfaces.

The apartment looked like a Quidditch fan's dream, in spite of the fact that Harry had since grown out of the sport and only occasionally joined in on a Weasley family game. Still, he didn't mind the decour. He saw it as proof that the place was occupied.

It was still early when he had taken off, and thus the curtains were left drawn, painting the room in bluish-gray tones. It looked quite still, and Hermione felt for a second as if she was an intruder. Treading on intimate, and holy ground reserved for Harry and Ginny in the private comfort of their home. The room was almost harrowingly silent. It wouldn't be for another six months or so before the neighbour's boy took up the tuba, and a sombre farewell could be said to the peace and quiet around the place.

Harry spilled some light all over the room by flicking on a switch, and some more by opening the curtains. He stepped out of his shoes and walked off into a doorway. Momentarily, a hand showed up from the same doorway and gestured Hermione to follow.

Peeling potatoes proved to be a fantastic activity to accompany a little bit of catching up. Where before the heavy shadow of the war and its aftermath suffocated their conversation, Harry and Hermione now found it relievingly easy to talk to one another. They had a lot to tell, too. As they weren't idiomatically joined at the hip anymore as they had been at Hogwarts, they had much to share. Current events and plans for the future were lightly discussed and some minor complaints were laughed off. The conversation was pleasant, despite not being awfully deep or meaningful.

The two appreciated the small things. They were thankful for the fact that their problems had become trivial and small-scaled. Where Voldemort once loomed in their minds, things like the laundry and taxes now nagged. It was a relief, to grossly understate it.

Hermione sat back in the kitchen chair. The two were sitting at the table while the potatoes did their thing in the oven. Her hands took to her pockets. The right one was met with a cold, hard, round bulge. Hermione blushed and Harry noticed.

"What've you got there?" he politely nodded at her pocket. A sheepish smile grabbed Hermione's cheeks and her blush deepened slightly. Hermione debated telling him in her mind. "You can tell me," continued Harry, as if talking to a kid about their secret. Hermione's brilliant brain quickly whipped up a good reason for her to tell him, something like "he'll understand".

"Prying pebble." she said. Harry raised an eyebrow, indicating that he hadn't walked past the Weasley Wizard Wheezes in a while, and that he didn't have a clue about the spying stone. Hermione took great joy in going into full-explanation mode, and filled Harry in on all the details. She lost him about a third of the way through, after using the term 'magical security camera'. At that point Harry had a very good idea of what Hermione had, and was far more interested in Hermione's reason for having it than her encyclopaedic knowledge on the subject.

"So why did you get them?" he squeezed in just as she was taking a breath. Said breath got caught in Hermione's lungs for a second, before she returned to her signature posture of embarrassment. Harry had seen this pose a million times. Head slightly hung, a tight smile trying to squeeze her reddening cheeks to make them as small as possible. Her eyes got glued to looking to the lower-right as she contemplated her next few words for a second.

"Well silly story actually. So I was trying to make my way out of the bedroom past Ronald's side last week." Harry jokingly winced as if she'd just told him she had to trek through half of the Forbidden forest, before grinning and nodding her on. "I found panties on the floor that weren't mine." Harry looked perplexed. "The pink stood out amongst all the other things." Hermione explained. Harry's facial expression didn't change. It wasn't exactly the explanation he had hoped for.

"So I took it to him and asked him about it, admittedly in a tone slightly more panicky than was called for." Harry disagreed. If he'd found boxers other than his own on the floor of his bedroom, he would be rather upset. What business does foreign underwear have in one's bedroom anyway.

"He said it was most likely Ginny's, mixed up in the laundry Molly had given him on his visit to the Burrow." Ginny's name had something of a cocktail effect on Harry's mind, bringing the thoughts of alien underpants further to life in his imagination. Something about it bothered him quite immensely. Or was it the fact that it bothered him which bothered him so? He wasn't too sure per se, so he decided to delegate the thought to angsty nights of loneliness.

"And now you're spying on him to see if he was telling the truth. Sounds a bit distrustful of you, Hermione." Harry posed it as a question rather than a lecture. He knew better than to doubt the hunches of one Hermione Granger. In fact at this point, he was almost willing to believe that Ron was cheating on Hermione, even though he didn't have a shred of evidence. Such was the trust he had in her judgement.

In the interest of keeping the conversation level with reason and rationality, he chose to side with the part of his mind arguing against. "I have my doubts Hermione. Sure Ron's a bit of a red brick sometimes, but that's a bit much, isn't it?"

He knew very well that Hermione must've been thinking the same thing in trying to convince herself not to buy the reconnaissance gear. Harry wanted to hear what kind of arguments overcame that line of thought.

"I know it's silly, Harry, but it's just going on a hunch." A feeling, then. It was a tough spot to be in for Harry. He wanted to simply chalk it up to a type of girly jealous paranoia. On the other hand, experience told him that Hermione wasn't a girl to fall for simple, girly jealous paranoia. Either she was on to something, or she had advanced girly jealous paranoia, which even genius bushy-haired witches weren't immune to. Neither seemed like a good outcome to Harry.

He knew too little about his friend to tell her off the bat. He needed time to analyze the situation and make a proper judgement. Unfortunately, the potatoes were about to ring and time wasn't a luxury of his.

As he put on some oven mitts, he decided that shifting the conversation was the way to go. "How do they work?" he loosely pointed at the stone with his gloved hand.

"Oh, you just tap them and the image comes on." Hermione explained, unleashing the cloud of smoke with a tap to the top of the Showing Stone. A still picture of her bedroom showed up. Hermione felt quite a bit of uneasiness creep up her spine. It seemed intrusive to look at, even though the bedroom was hers, as well as empty. Even Harry found himself postponing taking out the potatoes to feel awkward and uncomfortable at the sight.

He shook it off, got the pan out of the oven and placed it between them. She turned off the stone and he turned off the oven and they both dug in. After their plates were cleaned of the second serving, Harry took the green item into the palm of his hand. "How did you say it worked?" he asked. "You just tap its top. Yeah, like that," guided Hermione. The empty bedroom came up once more. Harry was about to put it away when the bedroom door opened in the picture. His heart almost leaped out of his throat in shock.

Hermione, noticing his bewildered expression, grew curious immediately. "What's going on?" she asked, her view obfuscated by the conical cloud of smoke. "Someone's coming," said Harry and quickly placed the pebble on the table to his right. That way the two could see the screen at the same time.

"It's Ron," Hermione described what she was seeing. "Isn't he supposed to be at work? It looks like he's talking to someone. Wait, is that-"

"Ginny?" interrupted Harry with no small amount of surprise in his voice. Said ginger-haired girlfriend of his was supposed to be at practice. Or something.

Ron rather suddenly came towards the screen, making Hermione flinch in fear of being noticed. Then he bent down and started rummaging through the closet. He took ages and Ginny sat down on the bed while saying some things left unheard by the spying duo because no such thing as sound was being recorded or transmitted. Finally, Ronald brought out a pair of women's underwear from the depths of the closet. He was holding it as if it had been freshly fished out of a fission reactor. Ginny folded her arms, pulling her lips to one side and raising an eyebrow.

Her look was screaming "is this why you brought me here, oh brother dear?" Ron, in an awe-inspiring display of skill, managed to completely miss said sarcastic look. He didn't look awfully sharp, on the smoke display that is. Perhaps that's why Harry and Hermione failed to notice his eyes fluttering, much less his nostrils flaring. Ron creeped his way over to the bed and sat next to his sister, both his hands now holding the panties up to her. The grip on the cloth was a lot surer than just the tips of two fingers now, as he stretched the fabric between the tight holds of his hands.

Harry and Hermione felt uncomfortable at the scene. It seemed mighty weird for a sibling interaction, though neither of them could know for sure. Ginny seemed to agree with them, as she slowly backed away in the most unfortunate direction possible - further back onto the bed. "Ron?" her mute mouth could be seen saying. "Ron, what's wrong?"

At this point a few things must be said, but to lighten the suspense slightly, something is indeed wrong with Ronald Weasley. Dragon Licorice has an astounding rate of evaporation once it reaches it's boiling temperature at a measly 40 degrees centigrade. Combined with the spacy crystalline structure of a Prying pebble and the heat brought on by Magical upload bandwidth, things were destined to go wrong. Technobabble aside - Ron and Ginny were standing in an invisible cloud of the infamous Dragon Licorice.

What you might have guessed is what fact that entails. I shall spell it out anyway just to be sure, though. The youngest Weasley siblings have been inhaling the magical equivalent of viagra in spray form for no less than the past few minutes. As we speak, their frontal cortexes, responsible for logical thought, are being shut down, while the hindbrain is getting ideas. Socially unacceptable ideas. Ginny's fear was all but gone.

Harry and Hermione looked on in joint horror as Ron pounced towards his now fearless and eagerly-awaiting younger sister. Ginny's hand shot to the back of his head, pulling him in for a passionate kiss. The sight tore into the chests of Harry and Hermione like a frosty palm. The mortified duet couldn't help but watch on. Within a few seconds of watching the Weasleys kiss, tears were rolling their way down Hermione's cheeks. Harry's mind frantically raced for an answer. In a rash and somewhat comical fashion, he forcefully swept the stone off the table in one quick motion, sending the green thing flying bouncing and rolling its way out of the kitchen.

Hermione stood up and ran for the toilet, now sobbing audibly. She locked the door. She began properly crying and Harry could hear it. For a second it made his anger worse. Then, however, he quickly calmed down and suppressed his raging emotions. Hermione needed help and he was the only one 's when he heard her stomach turn.

He himself was surprised when his hand pulled him towards the cupboards, almost by itself. It grabbed a cup and the other one opened the tap to pour in some water. He felt as if he was watching these actions and his body just acted on its own.

A lot of the delicious meal they had was brought back to light. Hermione was shaking and holding on to the toilet seat. She felt light-headed and dizzy, nauseous and very, very hurt. It was so intense that she couldn't even hear herself cry, let alone the door unlocking. A warm, wet towel started wiping her face. Her name was being called. "Hermione, ..."

Harry picked her up and fed her the glass of water. Hermione thankfully gulped down the cold liquid, washing the awful taste of stomach acid away. Harry then took her to the bedroom and sat her down on the bed, seeing as it was closer and cozier than the kitchen chair. He only realized it had been an awful idea when he saw the green stone on the ground.

He quickly grabbed the stone to pitch it straight to the stratosphere, but as his fingers wrapped around it they were suddenly assaulted by scalding heat. He dropped the searing hot stone in shock, grabbing his burnt hand. Harry inhaled sharply at the pain.

Just then, the black-haired four-eyed young wizard felt something. It felt as if a cube of ice holding him prisoner was melting. From his head, chest and arms downwards, an invisible frozen confine was slowly releasing him. It made way for dark storm clouds to enter his mind. His head was as if filled with thick black clouds raining fire on his mindscape. Anywhere in his body that the ember droplets coming from the stormy overcast reached was set ablaze. Just as Harry felt he was going to burn and evaporate from the inside, something happened.

It was as if lightning struck. From his head, a golden ribbon of light tore through his burning body. The feeling looped back and now he was host to a ring of golden electricity spinning like a powerful flywheel, emanating waves of energy from his core to the tips of his limbs.

His previous feelings and thinking capabilities were scrapped in the blink of an eye. Harry felt perfectly capable of running circles on the ceiling. His fingers twitched. His eyes darted. He became aware of an enormous urge inside of his body. It was a powerful need, filling him up. Thick as honey and black as tar. It would surely pour out of his mouth, past his teeth and down his chin, piling on the floor. While it pooled inside of him, the surroundings got a strange red hue to them in his vision.

Harry lifted his red filtered gaze from his hand, pain long forgotten. His eyes met with Hermione's. There was very little Hermione in them, however. His mind struggled with finding a good word to describe the look they bore. Possessed was the closest he felt he could come. Primeval, carnal desire in its cold gleam stared back at him from her brown orbs.

A strong pull is what Harry felt. Like gravity or magnetism, it mercilessly dragged him towards the girl on his bed. He wanted Hermione. But he couldn't have her. It was wrong. He wasn't supposed to. But why? What was it again? What was the reason that Hermione was forbidden to him?

Harry's mind struggled to find answers for some more. It took so much effort to think, and with each step he took towards the bed, the pull only got stronger. Alarms were going off in his mind, but they faded behind the loud buzzing of the electric band of energy inside of him, urging him on. Harry used the last of his energy to try and stop himself. His hand, already reaching out towards the girl on the bed was stopped just a meter short of touching her.

He took a moment to enjoy his triumph. Crisis temporarily averted. Then, Hermione's hand grabbed his.

He practically pounced her. White, smooth neck, he thought. Before you could say sternocleidomastoid his lips were all over it. When kisses weren't enough, light bites gave him a better taste. The silky skin and vulnerable neck were deliciously appealing to Harry, and Hermione approved. Her fingers took his hair like reins to guide his merciless assault.

He reached her earlobe. Hermione felt his hot breath pass her ear. Ears, positioned at the side of her head, where her eyes couldn't monitor anything, were like an exposed flank of her consciousness. This vulnerable spot was now making her shudder, as a pair of teeth gently nibbled on it. It felt as if the pinching of the small bites was driving hot steel straight into her brain.

To occupy herself, she took to Harry's neck. She suckled until it bruised, then moved to a new patch of skin. She would have all of Harry marked as her personal territory. He was her new palace. A place for her to walk all over and use to her pleasures and desires.

An internal conflict arose inside her. Did she want to selfishly please herself while disregarding Harry's feelings, or would she rather have him ravage and use her? She decided that time would tell and that if Harry proved to be too clumsy, she'd take things into her own hands.

Speaking of hands, Harry's weren't awfully chivalrous. Hermione's nice button-up shirt had its buttons disregarded and was opened in a much quicker and simpler fashion; pulled at until it came apart. Her bra suffered much the same fate, having its clasps torn open and, along with the mistreated shirt, ended up being discarded on the floor next to the bed.

Harry's face broke away for a second, and he looked down at Hermione. Then, in a swift motion, he fell down to kiss her. For that moment that his head lingered in the air, the thought "I'm kissing HERMIONE GRANGER," hit his mind like a fat gong. He could feel his eyes and teeth reverberating with the powerful din of it. Electric excitement shot through his cheeks, blinding his pupils and tugging the corners of his lips upwards. In his mind, Harry took a step down the long stairway to hell.

Then, when they made contact and he kissed his best friend for the first time, another mess of thoughts and emotions bloomed inside of him. He couldn't stop thinking about it. Flashes of their memories muscled their way behind his closed eyelids. He'd known her since… well since forever. The long snake of time, of their relationship up until now, had somehow led up to this. The power of these thoughts made him very physically sensitive. The smallest movement of their joined mouths was enough friction to birth sparks inside of him.

Hermione's tongue touched his top lip asking "mind if I slytherin?". Harry's upper lip had no time to laugh at the awful joke as it was shoved aside by his own tongue, ready for a wizarding duel without the wands and fancy spells. That isn't to say that more sparks didn't fly. The warm, wet inside of Hermione's mouth was intoxicating. The way her soft flesh gave under the touch of his tongue drove him mad.

Hermione was in a similar state of mental disarray, but perhaps a bit less emotional than Harry. She had raunchy things on her mind and a few sentimental moments of nostalgia weren't about to slow her down. Thus, it made her very glad that Harry's right hand gave a firm squeeze to her left breast. Harry was still unwilling to break the rather magical time he was having with the kiss and decided to use his free, left hand to unbutton Hermione's jeans.

As much of a fan as he was of denim, what with its strength, longevity and permanence in fashion, he hated the fact that he couldn't simply rip the piece of clothing off of Hermione, preferably in tiny confetti-like pieces and in as little time as possible. Still, through resolve, patience and some gymnastic magic on Hermione's side, he took the offensive piece of clothing off, leaving her in nothing but her pastel violet panties.

In front of him, she was exposed, but not fully naked. Harry was down to the next step on his personal way to the inferno. He admired her sexual appeal. How her smell in, tentacle clouds emanated off of her, wrapping itself around him and trying to tug him towards her skin. Her dimly lit, soft skin. He wanted to bury her under his weight, trap her and unleash his cravings on her. He wanted to pick her irresistibly hot body to the bone. Her long, slender legs made his heart tremble. As did her hips and stomach. Her belly button. Her chest and exposed breasts. Her shoulders and arms, her neck. The toes on her feet and the fingers on the palms of her hands. Everything on her made his heart tremble. But most of all, her face. It was a face he had known for so long. So familiar and homey to him.

Yet now, so sexy, wanting and devilish. You could see the kisses were rough by the size of her swollen red lips. You'd be done quicker if you counted where her hair was not, rather than the opposite. Harry had little time to drool over her. Her eyes glinted with dominating command. If he was not to hurry his ass, he would be begging for mercy.

Hermione, seemingly out of the messy curls of her hair, pulled her wand and pointed it at Harry. Before he could react, his clothes beautifully exploded off of him in tiny rags and ribbons. The word 'practical' was at the tip of his tongue, but he felt that talking was unnecessary with the things that were abound.

Harry finally undressed Hermione's underpants, completely revealing her to him. A new perspective forced its way into his mind. A picture of her, lying before him stark naked was burned into his memory for all time. As he returned to passionately kissing her lips, his mind worked its way up and down that picture, mapping it out.

Somehow, the panties going away turned her from sexually arousing to also breathtakingly beautiful. To Harry, Hermione's completely naked body was astounding. In the state he was in, he marvelled at it. Not just in the physical sense of beautiful, but through his view and understanding of the person before him, another sort of beauty emerged in his beholding eye.

This slim, appealing body lying in his bed was the sole confine of the person he knew as Hermione Granger. One of his best friends and an invaluable life companion. This wonderful artwork of nature, her body, was the castle in which the personality of someone dear to him resided. It made her look like a cold, ancient marble statue of a goddess. Harry felt he finally understood why a person would pick up a chisel and take to a huge rock to make a human body out of it. He also knew which body he'd select to represent Venus or Aphrodite or an idea like that now.

Between the occult and mystical, even somewhat alien idea of beauty forming inside of him, and the exciting and primal sexyness, was a very interesting prospect. Her body was warm. A freezing cold, hard statue could represent ideas as complex as beauty with nothing but its shape. The sexual drive inside of him didn't need to consider the complex shape, detail and scope of another human being. In having a warm, living human body however, Hermione joined the two ideas together somehow. She was both significant to him as a person, which gave him the sense of this new beauty he was finding, as well as desirable. Coldly beautiful to the eye, but lusciously hot to the touch.

Without warning, Hermione pushed Harry upwards, jerked backwards and pulled her legs up. Then her thighs locked around his neck and pulled him in towards her midsection, hands grabbing fistfuls of hair and holding him in place.

Not waiting to be told twice, Harry uncompromisingly thrust his tongue against the soft pink lips in front of him. He was going round-robin between ruthless bursts on her clitoris, quick twirls inside her opening and teases to her urethra.

While Hermione felt the toe-curling pleasure make warm, frilly helixes around her spine, her closed eyes squinted and her lips curled into a smile. She bit the lower one to stifle some of her moans. Her brows furrowed a little. Harry spared her a quick glance and noticed she looked totally into it, latching onto him like a parasite, that was pleasuring herself by using him. Not that he minded at all.

The thought that his tongue was rubbing the end of Hermione's urethra was exciting to the point of making his eyes roll backwards with arousal. The Hermione he'd grown to know and love as a friend, peed from there. Something so personal and intimate she'd never even dream of sharing with anyone. Yet here she was, showing it all to him, ordering him to accept it. She would have nor privacy nor shame before him. If she wanted to feel naughty by having her dirty places touched, rubbed and licked, he'd have nothing to say about it.

Harry loved that fact to bits and wanted to encourage that way of thinking. To assert his position and do a small experiment, Harry's tongue pressed lower and slid over Hermione's anus. "For science," he thought. Hermione felt like a cold goo spilled into her from the point his tongue touched. The nerve endings sung, and excitement at what she deemed as sickness clouded her thoughts. She tried to shove Harry's head lower, deeper between her legs.

Harry was pleasantly surprised at her reaction, He knew she wanted more, but he did too. Skillfully evading her grip, he let her fall to the bed. Then he turned her on her stomach and pulled up her hips. Hermione was now on all fours with Harry's face staring eye to eye with her behind. Reaching over her shapely bum, he pushed her head down to further expose her. Harry nestled his chin between her soft cheeks and started licking away at her brown, pigmented button.

Hermione felt his intrusive tongue twisting and swirling all across the sensitive skin. Then it started pressing into the opening, protruding into her slightly. Her head shot up and she yelped at the sensation. He was digging into her person from an uncontrollable angle again. It felt like the deepest invasion of her privacy, as if she was laid completely bare before him. Bolts of pleasure numbed her limbs and made her unable to move. Her lifelong friend Harry Potter was taking her body in such an embarrassing way. A lewd grin bared her teeth into the covers while her hand again pulled him in by the hair.

Harry soon reached his limit of patience and again flipped Hermione onto her back, with less effort than for a pancake. Taking one last glorious look at her now sweaty, deprived body, Harry shook with anticipation. Then he watched his member touch her opening. Her softness meant the head sunk into her wet folds almost without going inside. A light push and he was wedged inside of her.

Hermione felt a flood of goodness flow up through her as he entered her. Unable to hold himself back, Harry looked on as his length disappeared inside of Hermione's body, sliding inside of her. It was hot, sticky, rough and uneven in there. It drained his sanity. Between watching the place where they were joined and feeling Hermione's heartbeat almost sync up with his own from inside of her, Harry was losing consciousness.

A short stillness was followed by thrusts. Moans. Grunts. Hermione made wonderful noises that Harry never knew she was capable of. His ears, now free from the clutch of her thighs, could enjoy the music of her voice mix with sloppy sounds of their sexes being joined repeatedly.

His emotions were subsiding and neediness rising. Hermione was already emotionally shallow at this point, so she appreciated the change in priority in Harry's mind. At least she would've if she had the patience. Instead, she pounced him from her lying position and ended up on top of him. She firmly gripped his shaft and straight up shoved it inside of herself, sitting down all the way on him with a reaffirming wiggle at the end. He was wedged so deep inside of her.

Hermione went about pleasuring herself with his body while Harry slowly grew ever more impatient and aroused. The jerky back and forth motion she was using to stir herself up wasn't as excellent for him as was the in and out thrusting. He delayed his mutiny, however, because of the view. Hermione was enjoying herself immensely and the look on her face was very telling of that.

Harry returned to his musings about how beautiful the girl on top of him was, and how the rhythm of her body entranced him. Her milky, silky skin now had droplets of sweat racing down it. She was working hard to make herself feel good. Her hand reached up to pull back a stray strand of hair from her face. She laughed aloud with pleasure. Finally driven out of his mind, fruitcake Harry Potter suddenly pushed her off his body and stood up.

He grabbed the scalding hot stone, caring very little for the damage the heat was doing to his skin. He set it down on the bed and pointed it at himself. Then, he reached over and dragged a very confused Hermione by her sweat-drenched messy hair towards the edge of the bed.

"Watch." he demanded, forcing shocked Hermione to look at the screen. Ginny was lying on her back on top of Ron, her legs apart and up in the air while he thrust into her from below. Hermione tried to look away, but Harry's grip was firm. Then, he forced his shaft into her mouth. Slightly shocked, Hermione looked up at him. "Watch." he repeated, grabbing her hair and forcing himself deeper into her throat.

It was a bit of a sick situation. Hermione nearly faltered for a second. A faint scream of her conscience and emotions was muffled beneath the buzzing horniness dominating her mind. Then, she started, ever so slowly to like it. Harry Potter's dick still dripping with her juices stuck in her mouth while she watched her boyfriend fuck his own sister with reckless abandon. She felt dehumanized and uncivilized. Primitive. Her heart cooled down. Like a small star at the end of its life, dying to the merciless, draining cold of the surrounding cosmos. Above all, though, Hermione felt free. She started to move her tongue. Her mouth suckled at the intruding member.

In that moment, all positive thoughts and emotions, morals and ideals came crashing down spectacularly. Brought down by the shining bulldozer of sexual desire, Hermione rejoiced in the blowjob she was giving to her best friend, Harry Potter. A cynical and bitter joy, but a good feeling nonetheless. Before she could have gotten a good taste however, he pulled out and laid her down. She propped herself up on her elbows and watched closely how Ron slid in and out of Ginny.

She concentrated on the image for long enough for it to become like distanced pornography. Arousing. "Yes." she said quietly. Harry looked at her slightly confused while he slid into her. Hermione licked her finger and repeated herself. "Yes." a little louder this time. Her wet finger reached down to her midsection and began massaging her clitoris. She was getting off to it. "Yes." she said, this time in a moan as Harry's thrust synced up to the word. Then she looked at Harry. "Fuck me, Harry." she said in a tone that almost made him mishear her as saying "Help me, Harry." Communication wasn't a problem, however, as she repeated herself. Over and over, vulgarly telling him to fuck her while touching herself and occasionally glancing at the voyeuristic video in the smoke.

They switched positions to doggy style, with Hermione facing the screen. Her moans grew louder and she didn't stop masturbating. "Fuck her," she now chanted, looking at the screen like a TV-addict. Harry stuck with grunting and moaning while thrusting into her. Hermione also thrusted backwards, and when the two reached resonance Harry would reach so satisfyingly deep inside of her.

Like a puddle on a rainy day, pleasure lazily pooled itself in her stomach. It grew slowly but steadily. Orgasm was nearing. Then, when it came, Hermione felt like she crushed her teeth together and opened her jaw to the point of dislocation at the same time. She felt like tears could just spray out of her eyes while sweet relief poured down her cheeks. Her behind wiggled from side to side, her back muscles crunched in a painless convulsion.

In small tremors of relief, Hermione was about to collapse on the bed when Harry caught her by the hips. All of her muscles released. Something shot out of her right then. At first, Harry thought it was the mythical squirt and felt pleased with himself for a moment. Then it didn't stop. And didn't stop. Then, the scent of urine hit his nostrils. Hermione was so out of it that she peed herself.

"Hermione." Harry said and climbed onto her. Without words, she turned over and spread her legs for him. Harry slid inside of her warm folds again, the feeling warmly caressing his whole body. A bit still poured out of her, sliding warmly over the root of Harry's member. Now, Hermione's eyes were much clearer as they looked at him. They somehow seemed to stare into his soul.

"You're mine, Hermione." Harry simply stated, trying to mitigate her gaze. "Uh-huh." Hermione affirmingly said. Her eyes were like a child's whose whole world revolved around him. "Mine." he repeated, kicking the pebble off the bed. Hermione just nodded and took his hand.

A jet of heat exploded into Hermione as Harry reached climax. Sweat beads covered his face where his hair wasn't stuck to it. His hot body collapsed onto her heavily. The intensity of the orgasm caused Harry to lose consciousness temporarily. When he woke up, the effects of Dragon Licorice were gone and with him still inside, Hermione was sleeping underneath him.

He carefully picked himself off of her and laid next to her on the bed. The big puddle at the foot of the bed was evaporating. The dense smell of urine hung in the air, though knowing whose it was gave Harry unexpected jolts of excitement. It mixed with a signature scent of sex.

Things have surely gone to hell in a handbasket in no time at all. What was he to do now? How was he to rebuild his life? Was Ginny the answer, or did he now like Hermione? Did he trust anyone, especially himself at this point? Harry wasn't sure. The thoughts were too much for him. If only he had a way of rationally thinking about it. If only Hermione would open h- Harry thought he heard a whisper. A very faint sound that could've very well had a source in his imagination. Considering the situation, hallucinations weren't out of the question. He would've sworn he was crazy before telling anyone, but he was sure he'd heard Hermione whisper one word in her sleep. "Yours?" Harry said, perplexed.

Hermione's eyes opened.

A/N:

I was contemplating whether or not to put an AN in at all. The story speaks for itself, I'd like to think. It was made in a sort of "I felt like writing it" situation. That's why it's a one-shot. I'm interested to see your thoughts and questions, and I'd also be thankful for any grammatical corrections.

Usually people put in a "don't like don't read" disclaimer, but I thought that it was unnecessary, and that people should judge for themselves.

I thought about pairing Ron up with a random coworker or something instead of Ginny, but decided to go with the original idea in the end, to somewhat emphasize the whole clusterfuck of the situation.

Anyway hope you enjoyed. Have a nice day!


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